Date: Mon, 13 Nov 2000 11:00:40 EST
From: Scotty T <thepoetboy@hotmail.com>
Subject: Beneath It All 8

Here's part 8   nice and quick, eh?

(That was my way of greeting my fellow Canadians.  This is the first of my
stories to not have a major Canadian character. :)

Oh, and ignore the part about going to the NSYNC concert from the last
instalment.  My first concert was not to be the tickets were stolen from my
friends' room by some unknown person.  (Probably one of her or her
roommates' friends.)  So this NSYNC concert will be Scottiless, and someone
else'll be enjoying my first concert and my belated birthday gift.

Do I sound bitter?  Naw. :)

Anyway, on with the show!

***

Part 8

Nick stepped out of the shower and reached for one of the green towels that
hung from the brass rack.  A trail of wet footprints were left on the
hardwood floor as he walked over to the counter, towelling his hair dry.

It was a large bathroom about half the size of the bedroom.  The fan had a
deep whine to it as it pulled the wet air away.  When Nick felt properly
dry, he used the towel to clear the condensation off the coldness of the
mirror that stretched the length of the wall.

His blond hair looked brown, hanging limply damp.  He brushed it straight
back before parting it evenly down the middle.  Leaning forward, he stared
at his eyes.  They hadn't changed not one bit.  When everything else did,
they didn't.

And the smirk.  He couldn't force himself to stop.  With all probability,
he thought it would be stuck there from now until . . .

Until they had to leave.  It was Tuesday now, and by Friday afternoon
they'd be on a plane to God knows where, never to return.  Nick looked back
into the mirror's eyes.

There were times when Friday wouldn't have meant anything.  You get used to
moving from place to place, staying just long enough to learn the names and
play a few songs.  From city to city, jungle to jungle.

He'd miss the stars at night.  The darkness that became so absolute when
the clouds moved in, blocking the moon.  The sound of the wind through the
dry grass of the fields.  The love of a dog who's getting scratched in all
the right places.

Nick's hands clenched the edge of the counter until his knuckles went
white.
  His breathing became deep and long as he tried to keep control.  He
swallowed back the panic, forcing himself back into the calm of his
surroundings.

"No, Nicky," he whispered under his breath, "you've got time.  You'll think
of something."  His eyes were wide, and his jaw was firm.  He could see the
muscles in his face working under the thinness of the skin.  "It'll all
work out."

The bathroom air was getting cold, and the fog of the mirror had dispersed
entirely.  Nick wrapped the towel around his waist and headed to the door,
keeping his eyes low and his breathing carefully controlled.

When he got to his room, he was forced to smile.  In his absence, Denny had
found her way under the covers of the bed to keep as much of their warmth
as she could.  Nick pulled the blankets up a bit further, to cover her back
legs and tail, before going over to the dresser.

***

Nick knocked on John's door and leaned against the wall of the hallway.  He
heard a muffled "Just a second!" called from inside the room, slightly
edged by the usual southern accent.  A moment later the door opened.

John had changed into a blue dress shirt and black jeans.  He released the
door and continued to loop his black leather belt.  Stepping back into the
room, he smiled.  "You smell better."

With a laugh, Nick stepped inside.  "That was part of the goal."

Nick reached out and tugged on John's shirt, releasing enough from the
waist line that it puffed out a bit.  He moved his hands away in time for
John to buckle the belt.

"What've you got planned today, Nickie?"

Nick hopped up on the dresser.  "Nothing big, following you around like a
puppy, thinking about you whenever I get the chance.  Oh, and avoiding the
first floor."

John moved over to the door and pushed it closed, as easily as he seemed to
do anything in this house.  The room had very distinct places set out.
Various pairs of shoes were lined up between the door and the closet.
John's brush and personal belongings seemed carefully placed along the top
of the dresser.  Everything was perfectly set.

Nick stared at the brush beside his hand, thinking.  If it was moved by
just a foot, John might never find it. The limitations of that world were
terrifying, though Nick tried not to let them affect him.  John was a man
who grew up with this.  To him, they couldn't be limitations.

They were facts of life.

"You're awfully quiet over there," John said as he finished tying his
shoes.

Nick looked up, pulled back into himself.  "Just thinking."

"You'll have to face them sooner or later."

"I'd rather later. Very much later."  Nick ran his fingers through his
hair, feeling just a bit of dampness lingering.  "Is there any way out of
here so we won't have to face them?"

John started to sit on the bed, putting his hand down first to steady
himself.  "That's not realistic, Nick.  They care about you and they won't
take well to you sneaking off.  Besides which," he said with a slight grin,
"I'm not the best person at being sneaky."

Nick sighed, turning his eyes to look outside.  John's window looked out on
the back of the house, with a view of the large tree and its swing.  The
leaves had already started to turn, becoming increasingly red under the
unseasonably warm sun.

"Is it so wrong to want an escape?  Just a bit of time to enjoy being with
you, without all the other crap piling on top?"

"You'll have lots of time with me."

"But I'll never have this bit of time again.  This newness."

John stood up and held his hand out.  "If things go well, we'll have a
thousand different newnesses to enjoy.  Don't worry about this one."

With a slight curl of his lip, Nick hopped off the dresser and took John's
hand.  "You'll face this with me?"

"Just try and stop me."

***

Denny pulled herself out of bed when she heard the men making their way
down the stairs.  John stopped for a moment so she could catch up, before
moving the rest of the way down.  Nick let go of John's hand just before
the last bend in the stairway.

The kitchen was a hive of activity.  Nick's bandmates were sitting around
the table, talking in hushed voices, looking like none of them had gotten
much sleep.  Michael was at the sink, trying to pry a spoon out of a bowl
of oatmeal, and failing.

Every set of eyes turned towards the newcomers, except AJ's.  His stayed
fixed on the window and the fields beyond.

"Afternoon, Nick," Kevin said, as he stood and held his chair out for Nick.

With a quick look to John, Nick slipped into the offered chair and tried
not to notice the way Kevin towered over him.  It had been a while since
anyone had managed to tower over him.

The clock above the sink ticked loudly.  Quarter past one, Nick thought
with a sigh.

Brian leaned across the table and put a hand on Nick's.  The sympathy was
plain in his eyes, the pity, the sorrow.  The want to help.

Nick's eyes sent a different message back.  I don't need help, they said, I
don't want pity or sympathy.  Keep your sorrow.

"Feel like a sandwich?" Kevin said.  It wasn't a question.  The phrasing
provided the only acceptable answer: Yes.

"Actually," John said as he took an apple from a bowl on the counter, "Nick
and I were planning on going for a walk."

Kevin shook his head.  "I'm sorry John, is it?"  John nodded.  "We've got
some band business to cover."

John shrugged, smiling into the darkness.  Nick tried not to smile, because
for once Kevin's imposing stature and bearing weren't working.  "I'll pack
a lunch, Nick, nothing too heavy.  Some fruits?"

"He needs more than fruit," Kevin said, his voice deepening and carrying
more force.

After biting from the apple and chewing thoughtfully, John turned away from
him.  "Forcing weight back onto him's not the answer.  Fat's not his main
requirement, but it'll come.  Start small, so he can comfortably handle it.
Slowly increase it.  Less of a shock to his body, and less resistance from
his mind."  He opened a drawer in the island and pulled out a paper bag.
He shook it open and his hand searched for the bowl of fruit.  A rather
shocked looking Michael slid it to him.  Several apples and bananas went
into the bag.

Nick stared at Brian's hand that was resting on his, fighting back a smile.
There was a time when that hand would've meant anything, the touch could've
solved every problem.  But now it was just a hand.  Slightly coarse, with
the nails cut too short.  Just a hand.

"We won't go far, of course."  John was opening the fridge door and
searching for small bottles of water.  "Probably just out to the old barn.
I think Nick wanted a closer look at it."

A bowl was added to the bag, so Denny could get a drink when they stopped,
and John rolled it shut.  Michael's face was tense as he leaned over to
whisper in his brother's ear, but the words may as well have been silent
for all the response they got.

Howie leaned back in his chair, smiling at Nick.  Nick looked up long
enough for Howie to wink, causing a blush to spread across the young boy's
face.

"I'm sorry, John," Kevin said, crossing his arms, "but he's staying here."

"Let him go," Howie said.  He met Brian's eyes and Brian nodded.

"Yeah," Brian agreed.  "The air'll do him good.  And we're already late for
lunch, Kev.  My mom'll have our hides."

Kevin fumed silently for a long moment before he finally gave in.

***

They hitched their arms as they walked.  Movement was slow, as Nick lead
John, and John supported Nick.  Denny managed to get ahead of them, but she
continually stopped to wait.

Nick crunched down on an apple as they walked.  It's skin was a perfect
red, without a single flaw.  The stem had broken off after only three
twists.

"Your brother didn't look happy."

John grinned.  "I'm just guessing, but I doubt he ever looks happy."

"He hasn't been around much."

"Nope, not during this time of year.  There's too much to do before
everything settles down for the winter."  John took an old, grungy tennis
ball out of his pocket and through it ahead.  He laughed when he heard
Denny bark and the jingle of her collar as she ran after it.  "Plus he
thinks you and your friends'll keep an eye on me."

"I'll keep an eye on you."

John squeezed his arm.  "Don't think Michael's not seeing a problem with
that, Nickie."

Nick pulled his jacket tightly around him.  A cool breeze was coming from
the north, sending some dry leaves across their path.  The warm weather of
the last few days had finally reached its end.  "I'll talk to him."

"You'll talk at him, then.  He's not the listening type."

Denny came back to them and nuzzled John's thigh before dropping the ball.
They stopped for a moment as John bent to pick it up.  He threw it again,
this time sending it into the tall grass of the fields, before they set off
again.

"That'll take her a while, but she'll catch up."

Nick wiped his chin clean of the apple's juice before throwing it into the
grass.

"Want another one?" John asked, reaching into the paper bag.

"No, not yet.  Let's make sure this one settles.  Why're we heading to the
barn?"

"Where else was I supposed to say we were going?"

"Ah," Nick said.  "Gotcha."

"You okay with walking?"

Nick nodded.  In truth, he was letting John support him more for the
closeness than the necessity.  The concern was more meaningful because it
carried no questions or accusations, no laying of blame.  The concern was
coping, dealing with the cards as they were dealt.

The concern was comfort, and unconditional.

"I'm fine, but promise me we'll sit around at the barn for a while before
we even think of going back?"

John's promise never came, because he was too busy turning to greet Denny,
who was happily jingling up behind them.

***

John looked up and shrugged.  "However you want to do it."

Nick shuffled his feet.  They'd cleared enough space on the floor of the
old barn's skeleton for the three to sit, but now the who went where had
come up as an issue.  "I mean, I don't want to get in the way of your
personal space.  Or go too fast or anything."

John smiled.  "You're new to this, aren't you?"

A slight blush formed on Nick's cheeks, thankfully unnoticeable.  "Pretty
much."

"Suit yourself.  I'm not much for boundaries."

Nick lowered himself to the ground, lying on his back and then resting his
head in John's lap.  John was humming something very quietly.  After a few
moments, John's hand found its way to Nick's hair, and his fingers began
slowly combing it back.

At first, Nick closed his eyes to enjoy the sensation.  His mother used to
do that, years ago, when Nick was sick, or hurt, or just plain tired.
Before the concerts, the albums.  Before he'd left that part of himself
behind.

Left it too early, he thought, but there was no point thinking about that
now.  And there had been times that Nick had woken up to feel Brian doing
the same thing.  Before the engagement.

He opened his eyes to dispell the thoughts, instead staring at the ribs of
the barn, the wooden posts that still rose out of the earth and into the
sky.  John was leaning against such a post, one of the few that had
survived the collapse.

"Why didn't they just rebuild this barn, John?"

"They wanted something bigger, and some of the more modern methods made for
something more steady, more dependable.  They put a cement floor in the new
one, which made it easier for Michael to keep it clean.  It was also built
to have more space for machinery."

Denny was noisily exploring a pile of barn boards, probably hoping to flush
out something worthy of chasing.  Nick had already seen some little brown
mice since they'd gotten here, but Denny had missed them.  At her age,
she's lucky to be seeing anything, Nick thought.  But it hadn't kept him
from trying to point them out to her as they'd walked.  At first, all she'd
do was stare at his finger, but when she figured out the game she started
excitedly bounding in the direction he indicated, though she never quite
found her target.

Nick would have felt sorry for the old dog except for the fact that she
still seemed to be enjoying the hell out of life.

Very quietly, John's humming turned into words, and those words into a
song.

     If you ever find you've wandered far
     or forget your way and where you are
     just look for that northern star
     and come back to me

     and when you've come home at last
     and all your journeys are in the past
     you've baited the hook and the line is cast
     I'll be there beside you

     by your side until you grow old
     as happy as those in the stories you've told
     I'll keep you warm in the coldest cold
     and we'll greet the night together

He fell silent.

"That doesn't sound like an ending," Nick said softly.

"It isn't.  My mother and I could never agree on a last verse."

"You wrote it together?"

John nodded.  His eyes were closed and his voice seemed distant, back in a
time of childhood, before storms meant change.  "When I was a kid.  Michael
and I write much better things now, but that one's always bothered me.
I've always wanted to finish it."

Nick couldn't imagine memory without visuals.  His memories came as movies
flickering inside his head, often silent though he knew what was being
said.  Again he found himself struggling to bridge a gap he felt between
himself and this other man's world.

"Endings are always tricky," he said, finally.

Denny went bounding off, noisily into the dry grass.

"It's because there are no endings, not in real life."  John's fingers
started moving again, making Nick realize they'd stopped.  "Things never
really finish, they just lose our attention."

"I don't think I like the sound of that."

"I do.  It'd depress me if things stopped.  I like the idea that something
is always being remembered and keeps affecting things.  Did you see that
yellow brick house two farms down when you guys drove up here?"

"With the huge tree in front?"

John nodded.  "It was built in 1896.  It's burned down twice, completely
gutted, but the inside has been rebuilt.  Michael helped the last time."

"He does a lot around here."  Nick stared up at John's face, seeing dark
stubble on his neck, and cheeks.

"He's very much appreciated around here.  He's a nice guy, but he's got too
much work ethic, no ability to relax.  It would've been easier to just
knock down what was left of that house and start over, but no-one even
considered it.  They went in, and made it a house again."

"They wouldn't do that in New York."

"There's a different pace there."

"I like it here."

"So do I."

The future lay before them, splitting into roads and paths.  In the calm of
the falling leaves and whispering grass, two heads turned away.  Two minds
considered where they were going and then fell silent, pushing decisions
and inevitabilities away.  In the gentleness of a perfect moment, a
struggle to forget took place.

"John, I want to -"

"Not now, Nick.  Not yet."

Nick closed his eyes again, and tried to picture John's hand stroking his
hair.  Now it was simple.  Now Brian didn't make his presence known, and
his mother was forgotten.

But the coldness of the northern winds could not be ignored.  Time was
passing.

***

End part 8.